​I still remember the day that it all started. Of course, looking back I see the signs in high school; the shoulder pain without reason, the stiffness in the mornings, and the fatigue all the time. The day it began was November of 2010. I went to my parent’s house for Thanksgiving. That weekend I had pain in my right shoulder to the point that I could not lift my arm. I contributed it to an injury I must have acquired during fall softball. Four days later the pain traveled to the other shoulder. I again blamed a pinched nerve, a knot in my back, or twisting wrong during a softball game. The next month and a half was a blur, but I remember the pain took over my entire body. I was a Sophomore in college and walking across campus was near impossible. I tried to “baby” the “injuries” thinking it was some sort of injury and that it would just go away. In reality the longer I was being inactive, the worse my body felt. In the following months my hands began to swell to the point that I could not use them, my shoulder hurt and I could not lift my arms and simple tasks such as turning in bed, tying my shoes, or putting on clothes were too difficult for me and I needed assistance. I took 24 ibuprrofen a day just to get through the day. I didn’t understand what was happening to my body. I considered myself an active and somewhat healthy 20 year old. I will never the evening that I knew I hit rock bottom. My boyfriend was in Washington (it was around Christmas time) and I was at home alone. I was in so much pain I decided to take a bath to try and relieve some of that pain. After I bathed for probably twenty minutes, I attempted to get out of the bath tub. I was too weak to do it. I tried and tried and could not lift myself up to get out of the tub. I laid in the tub with the water drained and I just wept. How can my body fail me? Why is it failing me? Am I dying? I made a decision that I would not die in that bath tub. I got up every ounce of strength I had and flipped myself out of the tub landing on the floor. The following day I decided to call to get an appointment with a doctor at Bone and Joint. I figured whatever was going on in my body had to do with bones or joints, so I figured that was my best bet. I went into the doctor and of course I was feeling great that day, better than I had in over a month. I explained what was going on and he took X-Rays and drew blood. I left that day with more questions than answers. He told me “well we are testing you for STDs, AIDS, and a lot of other diseases.” On top of feeling like I was dying, I thought that I may actually be dying. It was terrifying. I received a call saying that I was being referred to a Rheumatologist and that I would see her in three weeks. It felt like the longest three weeks of my life, but I was excited to get answers. I went into the appointment with my father by my side and the doctor sat down with me for over an hour. She explained that I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, no it was not like osteoarthritis, it is more common in females, the most common age is early 20s and then again in the 50s, and your immune system is attacking itself. Rheumatoid Arthritis is an autoimmune disease where the immune system attacks joints causing arthritis. If left untreated, it can eventually cripple and kill you. They don’t know why the immune system one day decides that there is something wrong and it needs to attack, but they say it can be genetics, environmental, or even stress related. Honestly, getting a diagnosis was a blessing. I was relieved. I told her that her goal as my doctor was to get me healthy by March so I could play softball. She told me “challenge accepted.” I was instantly put on Prednisone (a steroid), Methotrexate, Humira, Flexoral, and Hydrocodone. She told me that there was no damage done to my joints at this point, but she needed to stop the progression because I was so sick. It was crazy going from a young healthy adult to someone that is considered “sick” and is taking more medication than someone three times my age. The medication began to work, but I gained a lot of weight. At my heaviest I was 190 pounds. I blamed the disease on my bad eating habits and lack of exercise. I let the disease take over and told myself this was how it was going to be. I had answers, but I was letting the disease win. I’m not really sure at what point that things began to turn around for me. It was probably in 2013 when I broke up with my long term boyfriend and began running. My mom told me I shouldn’t be running with Rheumatoid Arthritis and that I was probably making things worse. That fed my drive to do it even more. I ran my first half marathon in July of 2013. I stopped using my disease as an excuse. It actually was my motivator. I became more in tune with my body. I began feeding it better, cutting back on sugar, alcohol, and sodium. What a difference it made!! I was happier, I was losing weight, and I was getting off more and more medications. My ultimate goal was to be able to get off all of my medications. I wanted to treat my RA with food and exercise. Sadly, my doctor burst that bubble. She told me that I may feel good for a little while, but the disease would come back and it would slowly debilitate me. It was hard to hear that I would be on medication for the rest of my life, but I knew I could control how I treated my body and to love it. In 2014 I ran my first Spartan race. If you have never seen or heard of the Spartan Race please google it! It’s basically an insane obstacle course race and there are three main races (there are more, but I will just briefly chat about the three.) The Sprint which is 3-5 miles with obstacles such as sand bag carry, bucket brigade, rope climb, 10 foot walls, etc. The Super is 8-11 miles with obstacles and the Beast is 12-15 miles with obstacles. I fell in love after my first race in 2014. I felt like I accomplished so much. In 2016 I completed the Beast and Sprint Weekend in Bigfork, Montana which was a total of 20 miles and 70+ obstacles. I look back at 2010 and it was probably one of the most difficult times in my life. I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and seven months later my younger brother passed away at the age of 19. It was such a difficult time in my life and I question daily how I got through it. Six years have passed and I think being diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis was a blessing. Not to say if there was a cure, id take it. But it taught me so much about my body, myself, and how strong I really am. I stopped eating so badly, I began exercising, and I treated my body with the respect it deserved.